


Envy

by juzo_kun



Series: Double Trouble [1]
Category: Marathon (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Battleroid angst, Character Study, Fanon details, Gen, Minor Original Character(s), Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:15:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25376038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juzo_kun/pseuds/juzo_kun
Summary: Being a battleroid sucks, whatever history there might be behind. And trying to get over it is not easy when the only one person who can understand is as messed up as you -- if not more.
Series: Double Trouble [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1837663
Comments: 6
Kudos: 6





	Envy

**Author's Note:**

> Many many thanks to [GeneralRADIX](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeneralRADIX/profile)! Either for beta-reading and suggesting changes and generally making this thing readable, and to let me play with their version of the characters :)
> 
> \-- warnings: implicit references to canon typical violence and canon-typical violent past, including how all of this badly impacted the characters' mental health. And a couple of swear words.

Alex shut the shower valve and quickly got himself dry and dressed in his usual off-duty slacks and vest.

He passed a hand through his still-damp hair to get the usual vague shape of a hairdo, and went to sit next to Callahan on one of the small benches in what Durandal and his crew managed to get as similar as a gym as they could in their Ronzinante.

Durandal.

The one that was Callahan's companion... no, they were _lovers_ and this Durandal chose to house himself in an android vessel and he was so _caring_ to Callahan and _friendly_ and _cute_ and what the frag, the thought that _his_ Durandal would get down from his mountain of hubris and pride and ego and behave like Callahan's one was so boggling as to be nearly unbelievable.

Nawali, the second in command of 'his' Rozinante, was the one who openly said what a lot of the human crew were probably thinking. After the official meetings and greetings and settling-in, she pointed at Durandal in android form with one hand, then pointed at 'her' Durandal terminal with the other, and declared to the latter, in a completely deadpan tone, "Say, we could switch captains for a bit; might be some interesting test."

Android-Durandal tried to keep a straight face but clearly failed; Callahan got a chuckle. Alex's human crew (himself included) had to to deal with a couple of days of the food processing units exclusively serving the same shrimp-protein blob that was the S'pht staple diet. In the shape of an angry smiley.

Different continuums, indeed.

"Took your time, eh?" said Callahan, with a smile, interrupting Alex's course of thoughts.  
"Huh". Alex was indeed lost in his thoughts and realized just in time that the other man was speaking. "When I can."  
"Nice fight, 'tho. Hey, you always keep mostly in defense," said Callahan. "Sometimes it just seems I have to herd cats before landing a blow."  
"Never got really good at that," he replied.  
"At what?"  
"Fancy fights."  
"You mean martial arts?"  
"S'not practical in my combat uniform. Plain old punches and kicks are easier."  
"You don't need to pull anything, you know. I'm sure you're better than this!" Callahan’s tone was amused but friendly.  
"I dunno."

Alex noticed right off the bat how Callahan's combat uniform was much leaner and lighter, a skintight bodysuit with only torso, shoulder and partial limb protection--and even these with much less bulk than his own.

Probably had to do with a different concept the bigwigs deciding those things had -- less passive armour, more energy shields. Not that Alex was encumbered by his own; opponents always had a really bad surprise when they saw him moving in full armour. He could even do parkour in it and barely register the weight. But in battle, just dodging or letting the armour absorb the hit and then reacting was... quicker than trying to go for something more elaborate than punches and headbutts.

Perhaps in this continuum, Alex guessed, the Imperial Pfhor had developed some other, more sensible face-to-face combat tactics than just 'rush toward the enemy like mindless drones without paying attention to whom they are shooting at'.

The two security officers sat still, catching their breath after what was a quite intense round of sparring.

"Can I ask you something?" Callahan broke the silence, glancing obliquely at Alex. "If you don't wanna answer, that's fine."  
A nod.  
"You don't seem to have visible scarring. It's... strange," he paused briefly, "for someone like... us."  
Another nod, but no reply from Alex.  
Curiosity got the upper hand. "Different technology?" Callahan tried.  
"Implants."  
"Well," was the muttered response, "that’s a neat thing to have, at least."  
"Yep."  
Callahan realized he spoke aloud instead of thinking. "Whoops, sorry, no offense."  
"None taken."  
Alex placed his hand on the back of his neck, where the standard I/O ports of the implants were located, barely showing through his mop of hair. His own were well hidden, and it was strange seeing Callahan's, those plates so clear and obvious -- for something that had the task of being _hidden_ as a part of their whole reason for existing. No surprise that Callahan was so meticulous in clothing himself in a way that would cover the plates.

In one fluid movement Alex pulled up his vest and showed Callahan his back. Between the shoulder blades, right below the standard ports, he had what appeared to be an abstract tattoo, made of symmetrical lines and curves.

Judging by the look on Callahan's face, something about the specific shapes or their arrangement held a weird familiarity for him--evidently, not one that he could place.

"Got wounded a lot, yes," Alex said. "Docs patch me up, then this thing itches a bit. Lost blood is back in a couple days. After two or three weeks the scar's gone. Don't know how I got it. Erased memory and all. Probably all stuff from... that."

Callahan winced at the thought, noticed Alex' swift nod at his plates, and unconsciously lifted a hand to one of them, as if to hide it. "Yeah, different technology..." he mumbled, wondering if the Jjiaro had to do with it. Surely they would. Come to think of it, he didn't even know if Alex was aware of the Jjiaro origin of the implants.

Alex put his vest down, shrugging. "Dunno. Maybe." He already knew that Callahan was converted to a battleroid _while alive_... and not by his own volition. Right upon learning that, Alex felt the intense desire to strangle whoever got this idea. Slowly.

Pity that probably was someone already dead centuries ago.

He couldn't muster the horror of what Callahan went through... Alex thought about how his own _death_ and lack of memory and artificial personality construct might have had the tiny silver lining of erasing the worst part of the trauma of being converted into what could be unceremoniously but quite aptly called a _zombie killer cyborg_. Trauma and horrible memories that Callahan hadn’t been spared from.

Knowing that you were a weapon of mass destruction and being made to act as such innumerable times, but only by abstract deduction and reading some sparse history logs was one thing. _Directly remembering every single fragging second of it_ was in a completely different ballpark of suffering.

But Alex had to admit something to himself.

He was _still _envious.__

A monumentally stupid feeling to have, especially towards someone who was converted _alive and unwilling what the frag he should have the mother of all PSTDs at minimum and what was the sense in retaining your memories if they were an unending stream of misery--_

...and this notwithstanding, Callahan seemed to keep a... balance. 

Alex and Callahan had all these sparring sessions, which they both enjoyed because, for once, they had a partner of probably equal strength with the little detail of not being there to kill, just spar and workout and chat and get some fun out of it -- and gladly ignoring Alex's Durandal making elaborate thesis about _those two brick walls of testosterone_ every occasion he could slip in, which were many. 

After the first few of these sessions, Alex was able to notice something. 

Callahan's ease with martial arts that put Alex in nearly constant dodge-and-defend mode, his whole method of combat, which required a high level of self-control, and above all the way he seemed to be able to disengage himself from _fight_ to _not fight_ so... quickly. Easily, he dared to think. 

Alex usually needed at least ten minutes (usually under a cold shower) to exit from that, to regain enough self-control and avoid becoming a potential danger to whoever and whatever he had close. Worst cases had Durandal teleporting him in an unused and deserted part of the Rozinante while filtering out the weapons to let him vent breaking stuff bare-handed until he regained his senses, or crashed from sheer exhaustion and blood loss. 

At least he always had many chances to get his skill as a mechanical repairman in top shape, and could give the techie-inclined crewmates a reason to avoid boredom. 

This was Alex' turn for prying questions, and with Alex being Alex, meaning the guy with roughly the same level of interpersonal skills as a cave bear, Callahan didn't get a chance to at least a courtesy lead.  
"The automatic response mode," Alex said.  
Callahan was momentarily taken unawares. "What?"  
"The automatic response mode," he repeated. "You command it. Much better."  
"You mean..." The rest of the reply hung in the air, unspoken. 

_One of the things that make a Mjolnir one of the deadliest war assets known to humanity barring a nuclear warhead?_

"After...." Alex started, shook his head, then tried again. "After the whole L'howon thing. Thoth and Durandal. The Wrk... wkw... that stuff the S'pht'kr fretted about. A bunch of people choose to stay on Rozinante, and help Durandal and the S'pht do their Thoth thing." 

It was clear that Callahan was wondering how in the seven hells someone would choose to stay with THAT version of Durandal; Alex went on to reply to his doubts.  
"Many volunteers came from Mars. The survivors went with Blake and Von Muller back to Sol. Some didn't want to return to... that." He gestured vaguely at nothing in particular. 

Callahan nodded, knowing very well what he was referring to. 

Alex continued. "We organized. First thing I told Makeba--" Callahan got to briefly know her; a stern, efficient earth-born and ex-UESC marine who now was the commander of the security personnel aboard her Rozinante. "--you snipe. The other ones, support and intel. But if the big guys show, I go alone. Nobody around me." 

He slouched on the seat, his messy bangs hiding his eyes. He seemed to just talk to himself, now. "First mission. Pfhor outpost to clean, small stuff, gather intel. I go alone, I said. She didn't want any of this. She knows I'm augmented but she still wanted a squad covering me. Whatever, I trusted her. She wanted everyone in full vacuum armour. Good. Maybe it will go ok. Maybe I can just keep an eye on them and control... _that_." 

A bit of silence. Callahan waited, already forming the scenario in his head, and knowing where it would steer into. 

"Ambush. Hunters. The big ones. Durandal beamed up the squad, stat." _He knew. He was ready._ "But this guy -- followed me into the jammed area. He grabbed my arm."  
Alex straightened his head again, exhaling. "I was switching weapons. Could have been a burst of .75 rounds. Was just an elbow to the head." A pause. "Took six months but at least he talks and walks again." 

Callahan’s expression was thoughtful. "I see."  
"Guy still avoids me. Can't blame him." Alex sighed, permitting a pang of regret briefly showing through his usually detached expression. "Durandal says I'm getting better. _Bullshit._ It's not enough." Basically just a hiss through his teeth. 

_It will be never enough._

"We got better at spotting traps. And everyone else got the hint." Alex' face was back to its detached expression, before he stood up and left the gym with his usual slight nod as a parting greeting. He didn't reveal all, but he was sure Callahan already sensed what was missing from the story Alex just told to him. 

_I would have killed everyone if Durandal didn't teleport them away._

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration comes from the weirdest places, other than ~~throwing everything at the wall an see what sticks~~ actively exchanging ideas. I used to play AD&D. I had this cleric, the combat type. During a session, the party was attacked. We were losing, badly. War-cleric was fighting close to a berserker warrior character, failed a wisdom check, and so I decided that a good thing to do for my character was taking the berserker by the arm and yelling "let's go away!". The berserker's player rolled a natural 20. I had to roll another character.


End file.
